She hadn’t been alarmed at the start. He’d driven in the direction of her house, while she rested her head on the cool glass of the window and berated herself for her over-reaction. A heady mix of vodka and her bloody ego. She needed to calm the hell down and stop going out so much. Even her friends were getting pissed off with her these days. They hadn’t a clue. They all had something going for them. College degrees, job prospects, relationships. All she had was her looks and she had to make them work for her. Her parents were sick of her living at home, tired of her dropping out of courses and frustrated that she couldn’t hold down even crappy jobs in shops and offices.

She needed a bloody man earning a decent salary who considered it a privilege to take care of her. What was the point of being a looker if she couldn’t secure that basic necessity?

Una had looked up when the car passed the entrance to her housing estate and pointed out that he’d missed the turn.

He didn’t answer. So she said it again, louder, this time with a little fluttering of butterflies in the bottom of her stomach. Still, she didn’t think she’d anything to be really nervous about. He was probably just chancing his arm.

‘Hey!’ she cried. ‘I said you missed my turn. Stop the car, will you? I’m not interested in going anywhere with you. Just bring me home.’

But he didn’t. So she’d tried to open her door, even with the car moving. He’d locked it from his side.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she pleaded, quietly, panic building. And he continued to ignore her.

It was like she was already gone.

She’d stopped talking then, trying to figure out what to do. Slowly, she reached her hand into her bag, praying he wouldn’t notice. Her phone was at the bottom. If she could dial a number – anybody – and start talking, they’d know she was in trouble. Maybe they could trace her mobile.

Without even looking at Una, he’d slapped the bag from her hands, then held her firm against the seat with one hand as she strained to reach it. When she’d bit him hard on the arm, he stopped the car and thumped her in the face. Once the shock of the pain subsided, she’d fought him, yelling and scratching at him with her nails.

‘You won’t be getting out of the car,’ he spat in her face, and clamped his hand around her throat until she stopped resisting.